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Chapter 42

Ren was pacing her mother's apartment.

A letter had just arrived, bearing the Broods' family seal. Her mother had made tea. She'd returned to the corner of their living room and was sipping silently. Ren's own cup had stopped steaming some time ago. Her mother did not push her to open the letter, though Ren could see her peeking out from behind the book she was reading every few seconds.

It had been three days since they'd survived the fight on the bridge and ported back to Balmerick. Ren had been denied all access to Theo. Even if the explanation was reasonable—the Broods' house doctor ordered no visitors for the sake of proper rest—Ren knew the real reason they wanted Theo isolated. The Broods wanted time to convince him of his mistake. While their bond was fresh and new and relatively painless to have removed. They knew it would only grow stronger with time.

She'd allowed herself to believe they were failing, because she could feel Theo's mounting frustration. It was a sixth sense that her body was trying to process and accept as a normal, functioning piece of who she was. A sound just out of earshot. A flicker of movement at the corner of the eye that vanished if you turned to look directly at it. She'd felt brief flashes of impatience and exhaustion and heartache. But in the hours before the letter arrived, she'd felt a single emotion humming across their link: dread.

What did the letter say? What was Theo so fearful of that it dominated his every thought? Ren continued pacing until it became unbearable. She let out a breath, snatched the letter from the table, and ripped open the seal. The letter unfolded. Her eyes skipped down the page. It was an old study trick that allowed her to read faster than most students. Pinpointing key phrases and allowing her mind to fill in the rest with logical guesswork.

"And?" her mother asked. "What does it say?"

"It's an invitation."

Now Ren understood Theo's dread. She'd drawn first blood. Maybe she'd been too bold in her first meeting with Landwin Brood. Now he struck back. It was not the death blow she'd expected. He was not forcing his son to sever their bond. It was far more cunning. Ren knew that it was her fault. She'd made a mistake.

"They've scheduled Clyde's funeral."

"The Winters boy?"

"Yes. It's at the same time as Timmons' and the others'."

Her one request. She'd asked that the two funerals be scheduled at separate times, hoping to be present for both. Landwin must have learned of that request, and now he wielded it against her. Clyde's funeral would be in Safe Harbor's great monastery—located in the Upper Quarter—as befitted his station. It would also be the first event that Theo publicly attended since returning home. An event he was personally inviting her to attend. I would have you at my side while I mourn my best friend, the letter read.

"They thrive on cruelty," her mother noted.

"It is cruel," Ren agreed. "And rather clever."

The other funeral would be in honor of Avy Williams, Cora Marrin, and Timmons Devine. Having no bodies to bury, the families wished to scatter symbolic ashes at sea. The service would be in the Seaside Chapel, down on the beaches that were due south of their city's famed harbor. The two locations couldn't have been farther apart.

Landwin had arranged it this way deliberately, knowing Ren would not be able to attend both. If she attended the Seaside service, she would effectively be rejecting Theo's invitation. It was an effort by the Broods to plant doubt in Theo's mind. Look at how she failed to support you in a time of need. She might be your priority, but you are not her priority, are you? Even if Theo dismissed their claims, it would be a starting point for undermining their bond.

The alternative was to miss her best friend's funeral. As well as the funerals of Cora and Avy. Ren knew how much she owed them all. She was here because they were not. It would dishonor their lives, their sacrifices. Her presence at their funeral was the least she owed them.

Landwin was presenting Ren with a challenge, and there was nothing she liked more than a challenge. She set the letter aside and looked at her mother.

"I think I know what to do."

On the morning of the funerals, she stood before the mirror in her mother's room and began wrapping herself in the finest mourning dress she'd been able to find. It was a lot like the outfit Timmons had worn to Theo's party. Designed so that the shoulders looked more like armor than fabric. She'd also purchased a delicate black hat, from which a veil draped down to partially obscure her face. Ren slid her mother's bracelet over her wrist and adjusted the sleeves.

Her mother was waiting in the kitchen, fussing over a cup of tea. Ren halted at the sight of her. She wore the same black dress she'd worn all those years ago. It shouldn't have been a surprise. She was the same size and height, had maintained the same figure. But the image of her now—and the memory of her then—drew Ren across the room. She wrapped her mother in a hug from behind. She wanted to tell her that vengeance was coming. The man who'd ruined their lives was finally within reach. It would not be long now. Where the city's justice had failed them, Ren would not. Instead of speaking those prophecies aloud, she kissed her mother's cheek and handed her a candle.

"I'll see you in a few hours."

It was well before sunrise.

Ren set out for a funeral.

Ren knew she'd set foot in a much wealthier neighborhood when she spotted the livestone gargoyle prowling the roof of Safe Harbor's monastery. There was only enough light to make out the slumped shoulders and the pointed ears as the creature climbed the bell tower to get a better view of the city it had been charged to protect.

Except for the priests, Ren was the first one to arrive. Candles glinted beneath sprawling stained-glass windows. There was a rendering of a historical event in each one. She saw the first Delveans who'd sailed to this continent in search of the land where dragons lived. It was the only image that offered a nod to Old Delvea. Everything else centered on the founding of their pristine city. She spied the four famous ships that had sailed up the coast. Another window showed the discovery of the underground magical vein that had made Kathor such a powerhouse. There were depictions of crucial battles, duels, and inventions. Even the Broods' arranged marriage with the Graylantians—which effectively sealed the Accords—was rendered within the beautiful glass tapestry. Based on the stories they'd chosen—the grand scope of man-made heroism—Ren guessed this was where the wealthiest people in the city came to worship themselves on holy days.

It was such a massive building that she'd only managed to walk the left wing before a priest came forward to greet her. "May I help you, dear?"

"I'm here to pray," she said. "Before the funeral."

He nodded solemnly in return. "There are candles available in the front alcove, if you'd like to light one in honor of our dear Clyde. He was such a talented young man. Always left an impression on the people he met. How did you know him?"

Always left an impression,she thought. Yes, I daresay I'll never forget him.

"We were classmates. A candle. I think I would like that. If you'd excuse me."

He swept away. Ren followed his gesture to the glinting display, tucked in a room adjacent to the main hall. There were candles already lit by other parishioners, many that had burned through the night. Some to honor the lost. Others to mark new beginnings. Ren had never found any comfort in the practice, but it did provide the perfect cover for her own plan.

She waited until the nearest priest's back was turned, then removed a waxway candle from inside her dress. She tipped the wick to the nearest flame. It caught, dancing across in a brief slash of light. Ren moved deeper into the recess. Hidden in the very back corner was a looming door that led to the women's restroom.

Ren considered the space. There was a window with a deep sill. She eyed each of the stalls, every nook and corner, before deciding the window was the best location. She positioned the candle there, trying to make it look like an intentional decoration. When she was satisfied with her work, she returned to the entrance and carefully memorized the details of the room.

For visualization. If you cannot see yourself somewhere, you cannot possibly travel there.

Back in the main hall, attendees trickled through the front doors. It was still early. Ren took her seat, expression hidden behind her veil, and waited for the Broods to arrive. There was a gloomy shuffle near the front of the cathedral as a group of paladins ferried Clyde's casket to the front platform. Ren knew there was no body inside. She and Theo had left his corpse on the bridge. Burned beyond recognition. The thought still sent a shiver down her neck.

Some of the city's wealthiest citizens began making their way down the aisles. The Graylantians came first. Every single one of them went to light candles in the same alcove Ren had visited. She could hear them actually whispering mourning prayers as they passed where she sat. Ren knew they'd originated north of Kathor. They were one of the first Delvean families to heavily intermarry with the Tusk. But it was their pact with the Broods that had elevated them to royalty at the turn of the century. At least they hadn't completely abandoned the more religious side of their ancestry.

She spied the viceroy, flanked by guards, taking a seat in the front row. The grand emissary filed in after him. All the Shiverians came next—marked by their hawk insignias and disinterested expressions. Ren was watching another noble house make their entrance when she felt the slightest onrush of adrenaline. She knew she was not the source. It was pressing across her bond with Theo.

The Broods had arrived.

She spotted Landwin Brood leading them through the entrance. His gold hair verged on white. His suit was so crisp that it looked like it had been stitched together that day. Her vision of him at the back of the monastery briefly merged with memory. Ren remembered him at the back of her own father's funeral. She'd thought it was such a kindness that this stranger—the only stranger who'd called for help on the bridge—would attend her father's funeral. It had felt like such an honor when he stopped by her father's casket and whispered a quiet word.

Until he'd attempted to speak with her mother. She hissed a warning for him to stay back. Landwin Brood feigned surprise. He offered his sincerest condolences. Ren was so embarrassed.

Later that night her mother told her the truth. He was the man Ren's father had been fighting against. Roland Monroe's union had stifled his canals and his production. The bridge makers had visited them in the dead of night. Each one had sworn on the lives of their children: the bridge had been stable. Someone had tampered intentionally with its foundations. The collapse was no accident. Her father's death had been arranged.

Now Ren walked down the aisle of Safe Harbor's monastery and toward the man who'd authored that horrible event. He was surrounded by other Broods. His gilded wife glided alongside him, looking like she'd been summoned straight out of a painting. Theo's siblings and cousins prowled in their shadow, each one as golden as the next. Ren thought she was going to have to introduce herself to the whole family before spotting Theo.

He shouldered past the others, picking up his pace, and she felt a brief pulse across their bond. He wore a black doublet with brass buttons. It was an older fashion that might have made him look stiff if he weren't already smiling at her. Time in recovery had thinned him, drawing out the sharpness of his cheekbones and the point of his chin. Ren felt that strange pull again. Seeing his weakness drew on her strength. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him she was glad that he was alive, but she suspected that would be inappropriate at a funeral.

Theo apparently disagreed. He swept Ren into an unexpected hug. She let out a tight gasp before accepting the embrace, easing ever so slightly into him. Ren was just tall enough to get a glimpse over Theo's shoulder. The Brood family watched the interaction without humor. No exchanged smiles. No playful whispers about young love. She suspected it was more than just funeral decorum. Disapproval was written on each face. Ren pulled back, ignoring their glares.

"Well, that was untoward."

A brief grin split Theo's face. "It was a thank-you. For saving me."

"Oh that?" Ren asked. "Any sophomore student taking Introduction to Anatomy could have done the same. Not exactly rigorous spellwork."

A second grin surfaced before Theo remembered he was at a funeral. That serious demeanor settled back into his countenance. "You know that's not true. It was brilliant. The head healer was very clear in the report. I would have died if not for you. I owe you—"

A throat cleared. Landwin Brood had marched forward. He nodded once at Ren.

"I'm so glad you could join us. Theo, let's keep moving. This is a funeral procession, after all."

Ren noted the smugness in his voice. This had been a clear test of strength. Which funeral would she choose? Was she a pawn, to be moved on his game board, or something else? For now she let him think that he'd won by forcing her to come. She offered the expected curtsy to him and the others, then followed Theo down the main aisle. The Winters family was entering from a front vestibule. She found herself seated at the end of the third row, her shoulder pressed lightly to Theo's.

An elder cleric led the mass in singing a psalm. Ren mumbled her way through the liturgy, trying to ignore the way Landwin's voice dominated everyone else's. When they reached the time for prayer and reflection, Ren whispered to Theo, "I'll be right back. I want to light a candle."

He nodded once. She took the same path she'd taken earlier that morning, entered the same alcove, and ignored the normal prayer candles waiting there. Hidden from the main congregation, Ren walked into the prepared restroom. She glanced at the stalls, making sure there were no witnesses, then strode to the window. Her timing was nearly perfect. The way candle had burned hard and fast. Down to nearly nothing.

Ren reached out for the too-warm wax. She held an image in her mind, and when the flame died between her fingertips, she was drawn out of that monastery, across the city, and set down on a dune she'd chosen the day before. There were people gathering inside a humble chapel. Ocean waves clawed at the staggered shoreline. Ren adjusted her dress and followed the others inside. Ren's mother had saved her a seat in the second row. Ren took her place, quietly hooking an arm through her mother's, as the families of the deceased made their entrances. She'd missed the beginning of the ceremony, but not the part she cared about most.

It was strange to see their faces. Like potions that, when combined and stirred, had created the friends that Ren had lost. Avy's mother came down the aisle with her other son—Pree Williams—on her arm. She looked so thin compared with her boys, no more substantial than a whisper. Ren remembered Cora's confession, that Avy had bonded with his mother and allowed her to siphon his magic to stay alive. Rumor was that Pree had volunteered to take his brother's place. It was a taxing magic, but that didn't stop Pree from winking at Ren when he spied her at the end of the row.

Ren smiled back, but deep down she knew his life was no longer his own.

Cora's family came next. Her father had the same dark hair and olive skin as Cora. In an attempt to look dapper, he'd slicked it all back. The decision exposed a pale line at the top of his forehead, which Ren knew had been earned the same way farmers earned anything, through time and repetition. Her mother was slight of frame, hunched in on herself. Her eyes mirrored Cora's blade-sharp focus. Ren noticed she also bit her fingers in the same nervous way her daughter had. The two of them herded three children, all younger than Cora, down the row.

The next pair was the most painful to see. She'd met the Devines many times now. There was so much of Timmons in both of them. Her mother's silver-white hair was the same. Her father looked down their row with those familiar faded-blue eyes. She saw Timmons in the way that he gestured with his hand. In the way her mother leaned in to whisper something before raising the same challenging eyebrow that Timmons would have. It was like looking into a future that had been promised once and knowing the prophecy for a lie now.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the lives of three brilliant young students.…"

All the same liturgy that was read for Clyde Winters was now read for them. Most Delveans did not know what to do with death. The Tusk had beliefs about the next life that offered far more comfort. Beliefs that were central tenets to how they lived in this world. Ren knew that wasn't the case for her—or for most Delveans. They'd left a lot of their religion in the old country, which meant their only comfort was in the other mourners standing in the aisles with them.

Ren cried two times during the funeral. First, when Mrs. Devine told the story of how they'd discovered their daughter's ability as an enhancer.

"My poor husband, bless him, cannot cook. He makes the effort, and that's about all he can make. Effort. And dishes, I suppose. One night, though, he made the most delicious soup I'd ever tasted. It was shocking. And then the next night, a fried fish beyond compare. It kept happening until Timmons spent the night at a friend's house. That night he served the most poorly salted rice I'd ever had the chance to meet." She laughed through her tears. "She'd been making the food taste better. Rather than hurt her father's feelings, she'd decided to help in her own way. And that was Timmons. Always lending her strength. Always making everyone else a little better."

Ren cried a second time when Cora's mother burst into tears before she could even speak her opening comments. Unable to summon eloquence, she reduced her speech to a single line.

"She was a good girl with steady hands."

Pree spoke on his brother's behalf. Telling wild stories that had the group laughing away some—but not all—of their tears. Ren looked around at that point and noted most of their peers at Balmerick weren't present. Also forced to choose by Landwin's decision, they'd gone to the monastery on the other side of town. A mark she intended to count against all of them. She settled back in her seat and followed the liturgy until her time had run out. She needed to get back.

She whispered a kiss onto her mother's cheek, then headed for the lonely alcove near the front right of the chapel. There was plenty of movement—small children ducking under pews and bored uncles pacing the back rows—so no one marked her departure. Ren found a second way candle waiting for her, set out as planned, lit that morning by her mother. An abandoned match sat beside it. Ren mimicked the motion of lighting it.

She fixed her mind on the image of that bathroom at Safe Harbor's monastery. After a long minute she closed her eyes and pressed both fingers to the waiting flame. There was a brief hiss, and then that power dragged her through space and time again.

A sharp scream shocked Ren back a few steps. It muffled quickly, but Ren spotted the source. A woman was sitting on a toilet with the door slightly ajar. She had one hand up to cover her mouth. Both of her eyes were wide as moons. She looked rather indecorous with her dress hiked up and her body twisting to keep everything covered.

"I thought I locked the door!" she exclaimed, half a whisper. "How the hell…"

And then she clapped the hand back over her mouth, embarrassed to have invoked the idea of hell in a place of worship. Ren averted her eyes and stifled laughter.

"My apologies," she whispered. "It was unlocked. I'll leave, though. Apologies, again."

And then she was gliding back through the alcove and into the main hall. Theo offered a look of concern. Landwin was watchful but not suspicious. She kept her head bowed, knowing there were dried tear tracks lining both cheeks. Landwin would notice she'd been crying. Theo would assume it was her reaction to what they'd endured in the mountains. It was not easy to mourn a boy who'd turned into a monster and hunted them. Ren sat there, patiently listening as Clyde's father spoke about his son's life. Her plan had worked. No one knew she'd left the monastery.

Ren's triumph was short lived. When the final speech ended, "The Winter Retreat" began to play. She felt Theo flinch to stillness at her side, clearly aware it was the song he'd played that night. The song that had started everything. Ren remembered dancing with Timmons before that moment. How alive she'd been. But now there were four empty caskets.

Grief finally struck. Ren wept. As the rest of the room began filing out, she stood with both hands hammered into the wooden back of the pew in front of her. Theo hovered at her side, his family waiting awkwardly at the end of the row for both of them. Ren couldn't force composure, though. She couldn't compartmentalize pain that was this large. She stood there and cried until Theo wrapped one arm around her shoulder.

"It's all my fault," she whispered. "It's all my fault.…"

Theo whispered reassurances, but even with their newly formed bond, he couldn't understand the weight of her grief. He did not know her secrets, could not fathom the guilt. She cried until the final note of the song stopped playing. Thankful to be able to hide behind her veil, she took Theo's hand and followed him down the row. The Broods had already turned heel and started following the city's other wealthy families into the outer courtyard.

Outside, the various houses stood in their separate groups. Ren had been studying all of them for so long now that she'd memorized family trees and faces. She knew who the firstborn heirs were and what industries they would inherit. The more she'd read about their investments and holdings—at least those legally required to be viewable by the public—the more she'd come to think of these great houses as dragons. Ancient creatures who hoarded the wealth of their world all for themselves. Fire-breathing creatures, intent on leaving everyone else out in the cold. She looked around at them now and felt more confident of her plans than ever.

One day you will be extinct too.

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